


Such a Bloody Gentleman

by Arsoemon



Series: ShuKita 100 [37]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Abuse, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Cheeky boys, Domestic Violence, Flirting, M/M, Organized Crime, Shukita - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsoemon/pseuds/Arsoemon
Summary: Day 4: DualityThis charming man has been coming in around the same time almost every day for weeks now. At first, it had just been polite conversation with a kind customer—of course, his being so handsome didn’t hurt, either. He’s just as kind and polite to Sojiro but always seems to make a point to speak to Akira. Akira, for his part, is just as interested.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuKita 100 [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485896
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24
Collections: Shukita Halloween





	Such a Bloody Gentleman

"Coffee Queen?" Akira laughs. “Why can’t I be king?”

“Mm,” the gentleman takes a sip. “Because that is a bistro overseas. They are hardly worthy of the title, but alas.”

Akira returns his wry smile. “Alright. I’ll be your queen. Be sure to pay tribute when you come in from now on,” Akira smirks on his way to refill another regular’s cup.

This charming man has been coming in around the same time almost every day for weeks now. At first, it had just been polite conversation with a kind customer—of course, his being so handsome didn’t hurt, either. He gave high praise for each menu item he’s tried, but the coffee is still his favorite, especially when Akira makes it. He’s just as kind and polite to Sojiro but always seems to make a point to speak to Akira. Akira, for his part, is just as interested.

The handsome stranger rarely talks about himself. In all this time, all Akira knows is that he’s well-traveled, well-mannered, and well-dressed. His name is Kitagawa, and he’s an artist of great renown.

In between their flirty remarks, they mainly discuss his art. Akira is happy to listen to his highly poetic descriptions; it’s as if he’s painting right before his very eyes.

“I’d love to see some of your work sometime,” Akira had said, genuinely fascinated.

“Have you any interest in being a part of it?”

“What do you mean?”

“As a model. Would you allow me to commit your image to canvas?”

Akira could feel his face heating up. “Oh me? I-I’m not... I’m flattered really, I just... I’m sure you’re busy and there’s gotta be better looking people, and just...me?”

Kitagawa looked amused. “I can always make time for you,” the words sank into Akira’s chest and further reddened his face. “Well, the offer still stands. If you ever change your mind, please let me know.” He offered his usual little smile as he left his payment on the counter and bade Akira and Sojiro a good day.

“I have something for you.” It’s Kitagawa’s second time back after his latest business trip. He pulls out a large framed item. “This one is deeply personal, and I want you to have it.”

Akira dries his hands before taking the painting, his eyes opening wide when he sees it. “Oh my god, it’s amazing! Are you sure you want to leave it with me?”

“I do.”

He looks in awe at the framed work. “It would be a waste to hide it away at home. Mind if I hang it here by the door?”

“That would be splendid.”

“Boss, we got some new artwork,” Akira stands admiring the piece for a long while before returning to the dishes.

“So, you always leave priceless artwork as a tip?” Akira grins, leaning against the counter as he sets down a newly dried mug.

“It is my tribute to the queen.” Kitagawa eyes him with a small, seductive smile, hand agonizingly close to brushing Akira’s until he reaches into his coat pocket for his wallet, leaving his payment and a promise to return. Akira bites his lip as he watches him go, staring at the door long after he’s out of sight.

He turns to get back to work and catches Sojiro’s knowing smirk. Akira knows he should show more restraint, but he is very much enjoying living out his coffee shop AU fantasy in which he—the unassuming, secretly handsome barista—meets a dashing, smooth-talking artist who falls madly in love with him and whisks him off to some tropical paradise. He laughs to himself, the thought way too over the top and cheesy to even fantasize about. But there has to be something to look forward to, especially since his home life is as troubled as it is.

“What’s happened to your arm?” Kitagawa asks one day after taking his usual seat.

Akira makes the mistake of making eye contact and is compelled to answer truthfully. “I-I have a...roommate” he confesses. “He was in a bad mood from earlier in the day, and I m-made it worse.” He quickly turns away, looking for something else to do.

“And he broke your wrist?” Kitagawa’s tone is deadly.

“No,” he says too quickly. “No I... I fell. Only a sprain....”

“Look at me.” His voice is soft yet surprisingly stern.

“That’s the truth,” he whispers as he stares timidly into his eyes. “I did fall, and it is only a sprain. Just....” Akira looks down, his eyes sad.

"Won't you leave?" He sounds concerned

"Tried once." Akira tugs at the hem of his shirt. "He followed."

"Do you ever consider fighting back?"

He moves his hair, exposing a long scar extending from just within his hairline to just behind his ear. "Tried once." He’s surprised at himself. Not even Sojiro knows the truth of where all the injuries come from.

He can feel the man absolutely seething, the look in his eyes sends chills down his spine, an unusual vibe from a painter.

“I want a name.”

“W-what will you do?”

He eyes him for a moment. “I only wish to talk.” The elastic band holding his hair in a neat braid over his shoulder snaps.

“I’ll be ok. I will.” His mouth says as his eyes scream “save me.”

Kitagawa watches him for a long while, the weight of his gaze further weakening Akira’s knees. Finally, he takes one last sip before checking the time. “Unfortunately, I must go. See you tomorrow, yes?”

Akira nods, attempting his usual smile. He can tell Kitagawa knows better.

The next day, the artist is late, and Akira feels more gloomy with each passing moment without him occupying his favorite barstool. His sighs are loud and frequent enough for Sojiro to ask him about it.

“I’m sure he’s just tied up with work. Don’t let it get you down,” Sojiro pats his back on the way past.

Akira tries to take his advice and focuses on the dishes. He’s putting away a plate when the bell rings.

“Welcome!” He turns to the visitor excitedly before the color drains from his face, knots form in his stomach, his body breaks into a cold sweat.

"You done yet?" The man scowls.

Akira swallows, eyes wide. "There's s-still time before close. A-and I'm on the clock until he doesn't need me anymore." They both look to Sojiro, Akira’s eyes pleading.

"That's right. You didn't forget we're organizing this weekend, did you?" Sojiro improvises as he sets the newspaper down.

"O-oh yeah. That is this week, isn't it."

“Come on. I’ll go ahead and show you where to start,” Sojiro makes his way to the back of the cafe. They head as far into the attic away from the stairs as they can. "What's going on, Akira?"

Akira takes a deep breath before silently parting the many bracelets on each arm and lifting his shirt, scars and bruises staining the skin, a set of amateur stitches under his ribcage. Sojiro's frown deepens.

“Akira...”

“I think he's going to kill me," he whispers with an uneasy evenness to his voice.

“Yeah no kidding. What makes you think that?”

“He must’ve spent forever looking for this place. And I’m sure you could tell he’s not in a good mood,” Akira shrinks away from Sojiro’s sad eyes.

“So that’s where...” Sojiro sighs. “Kid, you have to get out of there. I don’t know what he’s got on you, but nothing is bad enough for you to live like this.”

“For the longest time, he was all I had....”

“And now?”

“Now he knows where this place is, who you are,” Akira wrings his apron nervously.

“Akira!” They both flinch. The voice is guttural, the name sounds wrong from his mouth. Akira turns to go to him before Sojiro can protest.

“It’s time to go,” he says through clenched teeth when Akira approaches.

“O-okay. I just need to-“

He grabs his wrist, fully aware of the pain his touch causes. Akira winces, his breaths are shallow, very near hyperventilating. “Don’t worry your precious _Boss_ ,” he spits the word, kissing Akira on the forehead as a front to veil the threat.

“Um... are we good to close now?” Akira tries to keep his voice steady, not knowing whether yes or no would be worse to hear.

“Well,” Sojiro looks between the two of them, “not quite. I’ll need some help finishing up preparing for tomorrow, then there’s the floors, the tables, the register....”

”Oh I... I guess I have to s-stay a-,” Akira is trembling from trying to hold in the pain from the tightening grip on his wrist. “Ah on second thought... I don’t feel so good. C-could I come in early to help t-t-tomorrow?”

He watches the older man who appears to be running through a mental checklist. But Sojiro is weighing the options. There’s no logic or reason to monsters like this. Sending them away will mean certain death for Akira; but from the looks of it, making the other wait will only worsen things for him.

”Think you could at least swing the tables before you go?” Sojiro tries.

”I’m sorry. I-I really think I better go,” Akira’s voice is borderline hysterical, his words tumbling over each other far too quickly.

With a defeated hum, Sojiro looks apologetic, wringing the end of his apron as he nods his head. “That’s it for now, then,” his voice far stronger and calmer than he looks. “I expect you in tomorrow, though. First thing, understand?” a plea to any force willing and able to be this boy’s savior.

“Y-yes sir,” Akira bows slightly and turns to follow the irate man out into the night. He dares to take a small breath of air, but it’s not enough to offer any relief. He’s just realizing he forgot to leave his apron with Sojiro when the other man speaks.

“You’re trying to leave me again, aren’t you.” He asks not long after the door closes, though it’s clearly not a question.

“What?! No! I wouldn’t! I won’t, I swear! No one else could want me anyway, right?” Akira gives a pathetic smile, trying his hardest to de-escalate the situation, praying the man’s very own words from previous encounters would reassure him. The man turns on his heel and stalks closer instead. “Please don’t do this,” Akira whispers. “Not here?”

He stops and stares for a time, his eyes dead yet sharp. He looks as inhuman as he is cruel. Whatever semblance of love that Akira may have felt from and for this monster is decidedly absent in this moment. The sight is repulsive, every hair on Akira’s body is standing on end, his cells screaming to run as far away as possible. But running would only prove him right.

The man takes a single step forward, and instinct wins out as Akira drops the apron and breaks into a run in the opposite direction. If he calls for help, Sojiro will hear and rush out to him. He bites his lip and keeps running.

He could go to Takemi, she’s still open for a bit longer. But that would mean cornering himself and getting her involved. He keeps running. The people at the grocery store seem concerned, but he doesn’t have time to answer questions; the small crowd of witnesses won’t stop the man this time.

Akira breaks down a narrow path to try to circle back toward the station. The stairs are in sight, the train doors are open.... and there are hands pulling at his shirt.

His last view of the world is blurry and bloody, sounds muted by the ringing in his ears, a long single tone as if his body is anticipating the flatline. He can’t fight back, it’s better not to anyway. The indiscriminate blows feel more and more distant as the light at the end of his tunnel vision fades out.

•

Akira awakens slowly to the sound of gentle running water, the hollow thump of a bamboo shoot hitting stone at regular intervals. There’s a soft light emanating from somewhere beyond the sheer curtains to the massive canopy bed in which he rests.

He looks to his arms, bare except the bandages spiraling up to his elbow on one, to his bicep on the other. He hesitates to push himself into a sitting position and is surprised to find that besides the dressings, there’s no evidence of what happened, no pain of any sort, no anxiety or fear. He ventures out of the large palanquin of a bed and is greeted by a spacious, well-decorated room. It’s a tasteful display of wealth, the basic necessities with a few silks and other fineries interspersed. He can’t imagine where he could be; certainly not a hospital.

He looks around for his clothes but finds only a deep red flowing garment. Once he’s dressed, it fits like a large robe, and he can’t seem to tie it tightly enough to conceal his cleavage. The sleeves are long and bell shaped and easily slip to the bends of his arms as he holds the fabric over his chest together.

Akira peeks out into the hallway, looking both ways before stepping out completely. There are countless paintings on either side of the long corridor, and he finds himself marveling at each one as he quietly glides along. A door to his left slides open, and out steps a large bald man in an all black suit. Akira startles and freezes on the spot.

“Did you rest well, my lord?” The man asks in a serious but kind voice.

Akira looks around for who he might be talking to and nods a quiet “yes” upon realizing there was no one else there.

“Very good. Master will see you now,” he motions for Akira to follow.

Akira follows a short distance behind the man, the calmness from before ebbing away as they walk. He’s not at all prepared to greet any master in this state. He’s barely even dressed. And what would be the most polite greeting? Should be bow as usual or kneel? Is this a place to avoid eye contact or might he look too shifty if he did that? Akira almost runs into the bald man while lost in his worry.

“Your guest, my lord,” he motions to Akira as he bows his head in deference to the master of this house. Akira enters the large room with his head bowed as well.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he kneels, bowing low to the ground to express his deep gratitude.

“That is hardly necessary, my queen.” That voice. The familiarity catches Akira completely off guard, crashes over him like a wave.

His head shoots up, jaw drops as their eyes meet. He figured the man was well off what with the suits and how good he always smells, but this....

Kitagawa-San crosses the room to him and leans down to pull Akira up to his feet, his hold gentle yet firm under his arms, carefully avoiding any bruises. “How are you feeling?”

The memories rush to his awareness. “Ah-! He- where’s...?”

“Your attacker has been apprehended. I assure you, you are safe here.”

“And Sojiro?”

“Unscathed. In fact I have sent word to him of your well-being. You are free to visit him, if you wish.” Akira searches his eyes, the calmness from before flowing back over him. Kitagawa gives a soft smile, and Akira pries his eyes away though he makes no attempt to step out of the artist’s hold.

“Um... where are we?”

“This is the state room.”

“Are we in a castle?”

Kitagawa laughs. “Not exactly. This is my home.”

“You live here?” Akira can’t hide his surprise. “You said you’re an artist, right? I mean, I don’t doubt that you’re good enough to be paid a lot, but...?”

Kitagawa laughs again. “Yes. I do have many means of income. You must be hungry. Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

They’re sat at a table for two in a dining hall the size of a standard sized restaurant, a number of other men filling the ten other tables in the room. The ceiling is vaulted and illuminated by soft up lighting. The furniture is elegant and plush, a meticulous melding of styles that Akira can’t stop admiring.

“Is it not to your liking?” Kitagawa’s voice snaps Akira out of his reverie.

“Oh it’s... you said this is your home...?” That’s as good a question as any to start with.

“Ah,” Kitagawa sets his spoon down. “You are wondering what else it is that I do?” Akira nods glad he picked up on the heart of the matter so quickly. “I truly am known for my art, and it does net a fine portion of our wealth.” He takes a sip of his tea. “The rest... I refrained from telling you sooner so as to not involve you in any untoward goings on. But if you are certain you wish to know....”

“Are you Yakuza?” Akira whispers dramatically. Kitagawa smiles though he shakes his head no as if talking to a foolish child. 

“We are in the dining hall of my home, an estate that is also home to an organization known in underground circles as simply The Society. Across the grounds is our sister company. The headmistress there and myself are known as the Blades of the Empress and Emperor, respectively. To summarize, we monitor and root out any problems that may arise for this country.”

Akira thinks on this for a moment. “So.... _Almost_ Yakuza?”

“It is far more nuanced and-,” Kitagawa starts to explain but cuts himself off with a small laugh at the mischievous expression on Akira’s face. “However you choose to visualize it, I suppose. But also no.” He watches as Akira starts to eat his meal and seems content. He looks down for a moment. “Does this alter your opinion of me?”

“You kill people?” Akira asks from behind his hand, mid-chew.

Kitagawa looks mildly apologetic. “Yes,” he answers truthfully. “It is regrettable. Not all of them had to die, but....”

“When was the last one?” Akira asks nonchalantly, taking another bite.

“Seven months ago,” Kitagawa eyes him meaningfully.

Akira ruminates on this. “Wait!” He swallows the food. “Didn’t you start coming to Leblanc like six months ago?”

“Seven.”

“Explain the timing to me,” Akira leans in, recognizing that there’s more to this.

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re really the head of such a secret group, you wouldn’t just spill everything to some barista you barely know. How can I help?”

“There have been Blades for as long as there has been humanity,” the bald man Akira met earlier—called Machi—explains as the three of them sit in the state room.

“The master of this house,”—he gestures to Kitagawa—“and mistress of the Mura house are both descended from such beings.”

“What’s different about Blades?” Akira asks.

“A Blade is one doomed to experience frequent bouts of unbridled rage, rage that can only be relieved by bloodshed.” Kitagawa’s brow knits together, and his comment from before makes sense. “That is unless the Blade can find its sheath.” Machi looks Akira in the eye.

Akira looks between the two of them. “Me?” Machi nods. “What makes you sure?”

“Our master has maimed or killed more people than years he has lived by an exponential amount.” Machi picks up a book. “Forgive me, my lord,” he bows respectfully before throwing the book at Kitagawa who dodges it effortlessly but still looks displeased. 

“Since you are making a point, I will allow that. Never again.”

Machi bows to him before turning back to Akira. “You see? That would have been my head just seven months ago.”

Akira considers this for quite some time. He looks across the table, smirking at Kitagawa. “So our coffee keeps you calm?” His voice softens, expression goes serious. “Or is it me?”

“The coffee is phenomenal, certainly. But it is you,” Kitagawa’s eyes are gentle. Akira smiles and looks down at the table, a futile attempt to hide his blushing.

“So I keep you calm,” Akira allows a small proud smile at that. “But isn’t that kind of pointless for your Ya- ah your organization stuff?”

“Theoretically, killing is our last resort. Having Blades as the two heads calls for some... concessions. That said, Mura house has already found her other half. As it stands, business is good from both of us, but of course, a lower death toll is preferable.”

The silence stretches on for a time as Akira thinks on this. “

  
So do we get married or something?” Machi looks surprised at the sudden suggestion.

“Would you like to?” Kitagawa sounds eager which seems to surprise Machi even more.

“With everything I know now, you’d have to keep me here or kill me right?” Akira quirks an eyebrow.

“No,” Kitagawa deflates a bit. “You truly are free to go. Sworn to secrecy as I do have a public face to maintain, but free nonetheless.”

Akira rises to his feet and goes to sit next to Kitagawa. “Good to know,” he gives him a kind smile as he takes his hand. “Do I get to wear a dress?”

**Author's Note:**

> I might share more of this.


End file.
